Got home last night from work…

Walked in the door…

~~~~ quiet~~~~

Neat living room.

Clean kitchen.

Neat bedroom.

Fresh sheets on made up bed.

Oh… Did I mention?

~~~~ quiet~~~~


The Zen Master was teaching class. The girls were at My Mom’s… All night. In a fit of reciprocal good will, I even cleaned the refrigerator. And I sat in my nightshirt, on the couch, with a beer and Fairy Dog, watching my British crime shows (currently, Wire in the Blood) and blogging and giggling while I searched google images and basked in the

~~~~ quiet~~~~

and waited for The Zen Master to get home. then we ate hamburgers (a real treat on our meager budget) and ice cream with no greedy little hands snatching and smearing on the floor, couch, dog and clothes. And then we snuggled and planned to watch something violent that we would never watch with our children within 100 feet of the TV. But we ended up watching The X-Files. Which I don’t really remember anyway because then?

We slept.



Grown-up time again

someecards back to workWent back to work today.

And back to the harsh reality that because I spent the past 2 days sniffling miserably on my couch instead of sniffing miserably at my desk, I’m not going to be able to take even one hour of sick time between now and my impending jaw surgery on April 10th if I actually want to be covered when I’m out. Which I have to be or we’ll fall back down deep into that financial pit we’ve been slowly clawing our way out of. i-hate-to-waste-sick-days-being-sick-funny-posterIt amazes me how quickly I use up my leave time. I get a decent amount, I’m guessing a lot more than the average desk cog. 3weeks of annual and 3 weeks of sick per year. Yet it all seems to slip away one day at a time so my accrual balances on my paystub are woefully less than what I need for, say, an upcoming medical procedure that will have me out of work for 2 weeks if I’m LUCKY. A doctor appointment here, a headache there, a feverish Peach or a Princess with ketones, I just never seem to have enough. And it is generally me who handles the sick kids because The Zen Master doesn’t get leave. At all. He doesn’t work, he doesn’t get paid. So I use my time for my babies and then, because sometimes I just can’t be all Ms. Toughy-Pants, I take a day to deal with a massive headache or a head cold or a stomach… issue. Oh, and the Bipolar throws a wrench in the works occasionally too. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen too often, but when it does… 3-5 days, minimum.

Believe me, I’m not complaining. I remember being a single mom, working, going to school and getting no sick leave whatsoever. I either went to work or didn’t get paid. I was a big whiney baby with a poor work ethic and far too much dependence on my parents so I usually chose the latter. Since my bipolar was largely unchecked, my absences were frequent and often resulted in a “Listen, if you can’t make it in again today, we’re going to have to take you off the books.” Which was a nice way of saying I was fired. imagesCA204FS1And I know that there are plenty of mom’s out there in that situation or one just like it who do have a good work ethic and do go to work when they’re dying on their feet because they know if they call out more than once it’ll be their job and they’d rather put their job at risk for when they really need it, for their kids.

So I’m grateful. In a major way. I’m basically just wondering how to not do that. I could go to work when I am in blinding pain from a headache or have sinuses so stuffed up that I can’t breathe. I doubt I’d get a hell of a lot done, but at least I’d be conserving my leave time. Also, I don’t like working with a cold or virus because I don’t like making others sick. My office is one of those “Be considerate to your co-workers and stay home if you’re sick” places. Which is all well and good but since The Peach seems to be a microbial production factory yielding specially-formulated Mommy-And-Peach germs that only make the two of us sick, staying home everytime my spawn spawns a mucous manufacturing virus is impractical and kinda silly. Hunh. That sentence came out… interesting. Anyway. Where was I? I was momentarily distracted by my long-winded cleverness. Riiiiight… Sick leave. I am the parent of a teenager with a chronic health problem, I’m bipolar, status-post bariatric surgery with subsequent multiple vitamin deficiencies and suffer from chronic headaches due to fairly severe TMJ. Oh, and I am also mom to a toddler… So I think maybe I shouldn’t feel too guilty on the using-up-all-my-sick-time point. Who knows, maybe Princess Punk will get her shit together and The Peach will build up her immune system and this upcoming surgery will fix my jaw issue. So maybe in a couple years we might actually take a vacation.

I’m adding a new category to my blog. I’m going to call it, “whining,” since I feel like I do a lot of that. That way if you get sick of my First-World Problems, you can just skip those posts. Kay?


Again? Seriously?

Snotty Peach gave me a snotty cold. AGAIN.


I am currently laying on the couch with my feet in The Zen Master’s lap watching Supernatural with him and Princess Punk while Typhoid Mary plays happily on the floor. The only indication of her sickness is the constant stream of snot from her nose accompanied by random coughs producing a brief but disgusting bubble. I, on the other hand, am wiped out. My head hurts in the usual places with the addition of my sinuses reverberating at a frequency that makes my teeth buzz. My cough is ouchy and dry I get out of breath walking to the bathroom. Joy. I actually blacked out briefly yesterday from lack of O2 and then lay on the floor in The Peach’s room for 20 minutes until The Zen Master got home because Princess Punk was too busy texting to notice her mother was gasping on the floor in the next room. Although I’m not exactly sure how she didn’t hear me on the baby monitor…

At least The Zen Master is pampering me… Kinda.


Another WHUCK moment.

“Don’t Dutch Oven your sister.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not nice.”

“But look! She likes it!”

The Peach wrinkles her nose and giggles.

“You guys are weird.”

“Well, DUH, look at our Mom!”

Walked right into that one.

Manipulation… Manipulaayyayyshun… Is makin’ me late…

Funny? Corny. Sorry.

The Peach has discovered the finer points of Mommy Manipulation. Not that she hasn’t been working on it for awhile now, and she’s had The Zen Master wrapped around her chubby little pinky since birth… But she’s really turning it into an art form now.

I got irritated with her last night. No. Correction. I got Majorly Fucking Pissed Off with her last night. Let me set the scene…

All of us sitting in the living room, The Peach scuttling around on the floor. There were toys EVERYWHERE. Like Melissa and Doug backed a dump truck into our living room and unleashed a load of random puzzle pieces, dolls, stuffed animals and various plastic thingys that make extremely irritating and sometimes creepy noises. Princess Punk was finishing her dinner, The Zen Master was on his netbook and I was playing Bubble Blast on my phone. We were all absentmindedly watching The Peach and the TV. Just to Clarify before you get all “That’s What You Get” about our parenting skills… It was 8:30pm and well past Peach’s bedtime. We’d been entertaining her all day with little or no success and she was bored with us. So we figured we’d let her play it out until she got tired enough for Mommy to Bring The Rain. Oh, and my everpresent headache was massively bad.

The sequence of events leading to my pissed-offedness…

  1. scuttlescuttle Mommy’s Snow Boots… “No no honey, put that down.”
  2. Relocate The Peach, provide fun baby toy, Re-establish barrier to shoes
  3. scuttlescuttle Princess Punk’s Sneakers… “Peach, No.”
  4. Mommy’s Snow Boots… “Goddammit, No!”
  5. Relocate Peach, provide fun baby toy, Re-establish and Reinforce shoe barrier
  6. Shoe Barrier- PokePoke, Push, Pout, clench fists, “Eh!”
  7. scuttlescuttle Turn off TV… “Hey!”
  8. Turn on TV… “Peach! Come here! Cut that out!”
  9. Look over shoulder… “Nuh Nuh Nuh” Turn off TV
  10. Turn on/off/on TV… “Motherfucker”
  11. Relocate Peach, provide fun baby toy, Re-establish barrier to television
  12. (didn’t even see this one until it was too late) Princess Punk’s mashed potatoes – squissshhh “PEACH! NO! Mo-ooooom!”
  13. Relocate Peach, locate paper towels, clean hands, face, floor, provide fun baby toy, curse vehemently under breath
  14. Zen Master goes to the bathroom
  15. I go into the kitchen to get the mashed potatoes from under my cuticles
  16. Gleeful cackle
  17. “Princess! Are you watching her at all??? Get her away from Daddy’s computer!”
  18. “Peach NO!” Stomp into living room to prevent catastrophic Zen Master meltdown secondary to hardware destruction
  19. More gleeful cackles scrabblescrabblescrabble
  20. Turn on/off/on TV… “You little shit… ”
  21. Rather forcefully relocate Peach.
  22. Pout. Sniff.
  23. scuttlescuttle Hand in Princess Punk’s water glass… “GODDAMMIT, CUT IT OUT!”

At this point, I think I may have had enough steam coming out of my ears to power a small engine.

I sit on the couch, glaring at the small person squatting in the middle of my living room wondering when her real mother is going to come get her because she cannot possibly be my kid.

And then… She shakily stands up and drunkenly totters over to me with arms outstretched.

“Mommmm? Mommmeeee? Up-p-p-p-p??” looks me right in the eye and smacks her lips… “MmmmmmmmmmMAH!!” And hugs me. And sighs.

God. Damn. It.

At least the couch is comfortable

I got kicked out of my bed last night.


Ok… Not quite literally, just kicked until I gave up and left of my own accord.

I am exhausted. The Peach is not sleeping well at all. In all honesty, I don’t think I’d be sleeping soundly if my ass looked like hers does at the moment. So I am being understanding. But I’m still fucking tired. She sleeps in her crib for a few hours and then, round about 10pm or so, starts rustling and whimpering in her sleep. At which point The Zen Master or myself bustle down to her room and pat-pat-pat and croon softly before she fully wakes herself up. This buys us another hour. Then the fussing starts. And the pat-pat-pat no longer works for more than about 90 seconds. eventually she sits up in her crib, bleary-eyed with some truly epic bed-head and whines like a little puppy. Giving up on the crib, we will pick her up and change her diaper, make sure her butt is clean, dry and medicated and head on back to our own bed with a heavy-lidded, slighty tearful, sniffling Peach on our hip. Bottle, Binky, Elly, snuggle with whichever one of us is her current favorite. She’ll be back to sleep within about 20 minutes. Unfortunately, her sleep at this point is restless and floppy and spastic and she will flail her limbs about at random intervals, slapping, kicking and thwacking surprisingly heavy little limbs at our various body parts. The Zen Master can apparently sleep through this assault most of the time. Unfortunately, every time I’m on the receiving end of one of those haphazard wollops, I startle awake like somebody just threw a snowball at my head.

Last night, by about 1-2 am, I just gave up, grabbed my pillow and headed to the couch.

Did I mention Princess Punk had practice this morning?



A thirteen year old should not need a nanny

Princess Punk’s last game of the season was last night. She only played about 90 seconds. The coach told me that when she plays, she’s good, but apparently she’s been sitting out in practice fairly frequently because she “forgot” her gear. Which I think is kind of odd since I watch her walk through the door of the gym with it in her hand. So, she didn’t get to play very much in the last game because the other girls… You know… Gave a flying fuck and actually put in the work.

“It’s not my fault, I can’t catch up to the other girls level.”

Which is a load of horseshit because when she did play last night, she was just as good as the other girls and even better than a couple. And the coach agrees that when she actually puts in any kind of effort, she is good.

And the schoolwork has dropped off too. She was running %100 in math for awhile, like a good month. Then she “forgot” a few assignments and her grade is now in the low 80’s.

And then of course, there’s the daily 12:30 calls from the nurse because her blood sugar is over 300 because she “forgot” to bolus her snack. Which half the time was NOT something from the carefully counted food from home.

I think I should get her memory checked.

See, the thing is, she was doing really really great for awhile there. And I thought, “Wow, she’s doing so well! I’ll back off because she is really handling her shit!” So I did. I stopped monitoring her so closely that I felt like I was stalking her. And she fucked up.

So apparently, she does need a nanny.

Not. It.kijiji-stupid_teenagers

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